


by midnight we'd forgotten one another

by Ceeninja



Series: Bowl of Oranges [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 05:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceeninja/pseuds/Ceeninja
Summary: A collection of canon-era drabbles set in the "I know who you are now" universe.





	1. Confessions (Peglar & Hartnell)

"I think I'm in love with Lieutenant Irving."

Henry sat up so fast he nearly fell out of his hammock. "What? Tom, you-you can't just _say that!_ someone will hear you!" He said in a harsh whisper, motioning toward the other hammocks and their sleeping inhabitants.

Tom snorted. "They're sleeping."

Henry stared at his friend, or what he assumed was his friend, as it was so dark he could barely see his own hands. "You're mad."

Henry was all for wearing your heart on your sleeve; if he could, he would shout his love for John from the rooftops. It was all well and good in theory. 

Reality was much harsher. 

"Be careful Tom. That's an officer you're talking about, and _Irving,_ especially." Henry made a face. "Why him?"

"I dunno..."he said, his voice taking on a wistful tone. "He's...steady."

"Steady?"

"Y'know...reliable. And he's kind. He prayed with me, after my brother died. That's how we started talking." Tom explained. "Now we chat any time we've a free moment."

"You almost make him sound nice."

"He is!"

Henry huffed. "I mean, he's not cruel or ill-tempered, but I certainly wouldn't call him friendly."

Henry heard creaking as Tom adjusted his position in his hammock.

"He just doesn't have a lot of opportunities to mingle with the rest of the crew, is all. He's busy."

Henry smiled as realization hit him. "But he makes time for you?"

Tom was silent. Henry stifled a laugh on the back of his hand. Poor man. It was one thing to fancy someone. But another thing entirely to think they may fancy you back. He let Tom think on it for a few more minutes before asking. "So, how do you know you love him?" 

"Well," Tom replied slowly. "I think about him a lot. I can pick him out of a crowd in two seconds flat, and I tell him things I've never told anyone before." More silence, though Henry could tell he wasn't finished.

"I dream about him."

Henry laughed quietly. "Yeah, sounds like love to me."

The next day, Tom would do something monumentally stupid, and he would receive twelve lashes, in front of everyone, including Irving. He would then watch as his fellow shipmate got thirty lashes for similar crimes, and an additional one. Dirtiness.

Tom never mentioned Irving to Henry again.


	2. Departure (Little/Jopson)

Edward pulled aside the tent flap gingerly, not wanting the bright, ever present sun to wake its inhabitants. He tied the flaps closed behind him--he didn't want to be interrupted.

There were two men in the tent; Thomas, and another man Edward honestly could not remember the name of. He supposed he should feel badly about that, but his energy was better spent elsewhere. He turned his attention to his lover, who appeared to be sleeping. Edward held his own breath as he watched Thomas's hitch in this chest.

He kneeled down next to the cot. "Thomas." He whispered. "Can you hear me?" He pushed a lock of stray hair out of his face, ignoring when his fingers came back red.

Thomas didn't reply. Asleep then, if fitfully so. Edward was both disappointed and relieved. He wanted to talk to him, just once more, in case he did not return. But he hadn't wanted to see Thomas's fear and hurt at being left, even if Edward intended it to be temporary. Nothing was certain anymore. For a horrible minute he envied Thomas, feverish and disoriented as he was, he probably didn't know exactly how dire things were.

He placed his hand onto Thomas's chest and felt his chest move with each breath. "I will be back, with the Captain, and then we can get out of this place hmm? Get that little cottage you were talking about, on the coast. It will be so beautiful, Thomas. But you have to hold on until I return alright?"

Edward was crying now, his tears hitting Thomas's chest. Part of him knew that he was dying, that even if he returned with the Captain, Thomas might not make it. But he would not give up. He couldn't. He wasn't sure he knew how.

He pressed a feather soft kiss to Thomas's lips. "I love you. I will be back for you. I promise."


	3. Hunger (Hartnell/Irving)

It was fairly quiet in Terror Camp. The captains and the officers were in a meeting, and the rest of camp was still going about their morning routines, bathing as best they could and eating their meager breakfasts. Gone were the days of cheerful comaderire and easy conversation around the dinner table. Now each man scarfed down his food wolfishly, holding his plate close lest someone take it from him.

Tom huddled around one of the small fires dotted around camp. He wasn't eating this morning. Even though he was terribly hungry, keeping food down was becoming difficult, and after biting into a piece of metal and chipping his tooth, he was not eager to try again so soon. Instead he stoked the fire, prodding it with a stick, hoping to make the flames just a bit larger.

He was so lost in his ministrations, he didn't realize he was no longer alone until he heard a throat clear. He only jumped slightly.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

Tom cracked a grin. "S'okay." 

It was always okay if it was John Irving.

John scuffed his boots on the rocks. "Just wanted to say, uh, goodbye before I headed off."

"To me sir?" Tom asked, puzzled.

He couldn't be sure with the harsh Artic sun in his eyes, but he swore he could see a faint blush rise on John's cheeks.

"Captain's ordered hunting parties, I'm heading south with Lieutenant Hodgson. Shouldn't be gone for more than a few hours."

"Do you think you'll find game?"

"God willing." He replied. There was a note of desperation in his voice.

"Hey," Tom stood and approached him, slowly, like John was a baby deer ready to bolt. He made it to his side and, perhaps unwisely, gently placed his hand on his shoulder. "It's gonna be fine, yeah? We still have the tins if we don't find fresh." He wrinkled his nose. "Not ideal, but we'll live."

John looked pale. "Yes, yes of course."

Tom frowned. Something was wrong, but he knew better than to push his friend. He almost blushed himself, then. How presumptuous, to assume a Lieutenant was his friend. But, he mused, he's made a special stop, just to say goodbye. Surely that meant John considered him as such.

He released John from his grip. "I'll see you when you return then. Try not to eat the whole caribou on your way back." He teased.

Tom was rewarded with a small chuckle. The sound buoyed Tom's spirits. 

"I'll save you some." John finally said. "I should get going. See you soon Tom." He smiled warmly.

Tom's stomach did a very interesting flip that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with John using his Christian name.

"Yeah, see you."


	4. New Leaf (hartving)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during ep5

John's head swam as he carefully wrapped his damaged fingers. Manson had a hell of a grip. He should go to Dr. McDonald, he knew, get the fingers set properly, but shame prevented him from seeking help. 

He had been in no position to be giving orders just then, and he knew he had been exceptionally cruel in his words to Manson. He had just been frightened. 

But John was drunk and frightened himself, and the power he got from giving orders had given him a temporary sense of control. It was gone now, and he was left just as scared and twice as repentant as before.

This is how Hartnell found him, struggling to wrap bandages around his hand, muttering in the dark, trying not to cry.

"Lieutenant Irving?" came the familiar voice. "Mr. Hornby is stored, sir."

Usually Hartnell's tone was friendly towards him, but things had been strained since the night he had recieved punishment, and John didn't think his actions tonight helped any.

"Thank you, Mr. Hartnell." he said without looking up. 

Hartnell sighed. "D'you want help with that? Manson's one of the strongest here, I'm sure you've got at least a sprain."

"I can manage." John replied.

Hartnell ignored him, kneeling in front of him and taking his hand in his. "These look broken, sir. You should see Dr. MacDonald."

John snatched his hand back. "You're dismissed, Hartnell."

Undeterred, Hartnell grabbed him again. 

"Alright, at least let me set them. I've got some experience with broken bones," he said with a sad smile. "My brother was always breaking something."

John relented, and relaxed his hand. "Fine." 

Hartnell hissed as he inspected his hand closer. "This is going to hurt." he said. "Though I suppose not much, since you're already plastered."

Before John could respond, Hartnell cracked his fingers into place. John's screams were covered by the blast of the cannon as Hodgeson took weather readings above.

"Sorry." Hartnell said, not sounding sorry at all.

"If you have something to say, then say it." John gritted out.

To John's surprise, Hartnell's face softened from anger to sadness. "You're drunk sir, that's not like you. I suppose I'm just sorry to see you in such a state, is all."

John remained silent as he continued. His hands worked deftly with the cloth, tugging it tightly against his hand. Their fingers brushed several times, as would be expected, but unexpectedly, the sensation made something in John stir.

"I'm heading above deck now sir, to assist Lieutenant Hodgeson. I hope the next time I see you, we can have a conversation like we used to. I miss those. I'm sorry for my part in their stopping, I am. But, I've learned from it, yeah and I'm turning over a new leaf. You should too. Enough of the drinking and feeling sorry for yourself."

He squeezed his hand ever so gently. John barely registered it.

"Be seeing you Lieutenant."


End file.
